Chapter 1 #3
The EMTs reach me within seconds. One guides me to the ambulance while another checks me over, gentle but efficient.
They slip an oxygen mask over my face and hand me a bottle of water.
I sip it gratefully between coughs as they fire off questions and make sure I'm not seriously hurt.
I refuse to go to the hospital no matter how much they push, so I sign the waiver they hand me.
While we wait, I watch the firefighters work.
They move tirelessly, shouting commands and directing hoses at the flames.
I pull out my phone with shaky hands and snap a few pictures of them in action.
The fire itself is strangely beautiful in a destructive way, the flames dance and devour everything in their path.
Is it weird to find something so harmful beautiful? I probably need therapy.
Finally, the fire is out. The flames die down and the smoke starts to thin. The same firefighter who pulled me out of the house walks over, pulling off his helmet. Soot streaks his face. It's the same guy from the grocery store. Fuck me.
"Uninhabitable," another firefighter calls over. "Chimney fire got into the walls. Bad maintenance and old repairs. Sorry, miss."
My grumpy firefighter mutters a curse under his breath. He looks at me again, something unreadable flickering in those hazel eyes. "You got any family nearby? Friends? Somewhere safe to go tonight?"
I lift my chin, stubbornness flaring. He might have saved me tonight, but I remember exactly how he spoke to me earlier. "I'll figure it out. There's probably a hotel in town or…”
"No." The word is flat, final. "The only hotel around here is twenty miles out and sketchy as fuck. At this time of night, nothing's open. I've got a spare room, you can come home with me and we'll figure it out tomorrow."
I laugh, sharp and disbelieving. "Excuse me? I don't know you. I'm not going home with some random firefighter, no matter how big and bossy you are."
His eyes narrow. "The name's Brock Wilder, sweetheart. I'm the Fire Chief, and you're not staying anywhere unsafe on my watch." He's already moving toward his truck.
I plant my boots in the grass. "Hey! I said no. I can take care of myself."
He stops, turns, and levels me with a look that makes my stomach flip despite myself. "Fine. Where are you going to go?"
He's right. I've got nothing and no one. It's not like I have any family I can call, which fucking sucks, but the foster system will do that to you. I swallow hard, pride and exhaustion warring inside me.
He shakes his head, then loads my suitcase into the back of the truck, opens the passenger door, and waits.
I stand there for another long second, weighing my options. The cabin’s still smoking behind me. The night air bites cold against my thin flannel, and despite the grumpiness rolling off him in waves, something in those hazel eyes feels... safe. Annoyingly, infuriatingly safe.
“Fine,” I huff, climbing up into the cab and slamming the door harder than necessary. “But only for tonight. And if you snore, I’m calling an Uber back to town.”
He slides into the driver’s seat. The truck roars to life under his big hands. The cab smells like leather, pine, and lingering smoke. He glances over at me, that ghost of a smirk tugging at his mouth again. “I don’t snore. And you’ll stay as long as it takes to get you sorted. No arguments.”
“Bossy,” I mutter, buckling my seatbelt.
“Practical,” he corrects, pulling out onto the dark mountain road. The headlights slice through the trees. “What’s your name, anyway? Or should I keep calling you Red?”
“Sadie. Sadie Quinn.” I glance at him sideways. God, he takes up so much space. His shoulders brush the window, thick thighs spread wide in the seat. “And I meant what I said. I’m not some damsel who needs rescuing every five minutes.”
He grunts, eyes on the road. “Didn’t look like it when you were fighting me the whole way out. Most people thank the man who pulls them from a fire.”
“Most people don’t get hauled over a shoulder like a sack of potatoes,” I shoot back, sass rising to cover the strange flutter in my belly. “You could’ve just said ‘this way, ma’am.’”
“I did tell you to get out. You stood there frozen.” His voice drops lower, almost amused but still rumbly and rough.
I bite my lip to hide a smile. “That’s fair.”
“Thought so.” He shifts gears, the muscles in his forearm flexing. “Today your first day in town?”
I nod. “Drove in from a few hours east. What about you? Born and raised mountain man?”
“Something like that. Twenty-five years on the job. Silver Lake’s my home.” He glances at me again, his eyes softening just a fraction. “You got anyone looking for you? Family or a boyfriend you need to call?”
The last word makes my stomach twist. “Nope. And I don’t need anyone looking for me, that’s the whole point of starting over.”
He nods once, like he understands more than I’m saying. Silence stretches between us for a minute, comfortable despite everything. His house comes into view as we climb higher, secluded and large but not flashy, with a wide porch and big windows overlooking the lake in the distance.